


so they lived, so they loved, so it is written

by 75hearts



Series: silmarillion drabbles [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drabble, M/M, Short One Shot, not sure which it counts as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 10:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15411276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/75hearts/pseuds/75hearts
Summary: The night before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, they slept under the stars; or else they did not sleep, but stood, and watched in the starlight. It was the shortest night of the year. In the morning, the trumpets would sound, and the battle would begin.Fingon was within the walls of Eithel Sirion, and Maedhros within Himring, sundered by the battle plans they had built together. But had they not been--had they been together--





	so they lived, so they loved, so it is written

The night before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, they slept under the stars; or else they did not sleep, but stood, and watched in the starlight. It was the shortest night of the year. In the morning, the trumpets would sound, and the battle would begin.

Fingon was within the walls of Eithel Sirion, and Maedhros within Himring, sundered by the battle plans they had built together. But had they not been--had they been together--

 

* * *

 

Maedhros sits beside Fingon in the soft grass. Above them is a mosaic of light. The night is clear, free of mist or cloud. Even this far north, it is warm.

“Dost thou thinkest we shall succeed?” Fingon murmurs in Maedhros’s ear.

“I do not know,” Maedhros says. His voice is uncommonly small and vulnerable. “Yet I do not think I had any choice but to try.”

“Perhaps not,” Fingon says, and they are quiet for a time before he speaks again. “Thou must know--If Doriath does not come, or Nargothrond, or Gondolin--”

Maedhros interrupts: “Must we speak of this?”

“Hush now, I am not done! Were it that the Easterlings and Haladim, the Dwarves and Falathrim… Were it that they all turned and marched back whence they came, I would follow thee still. If thou declared war on the Void itself, I should follow thee. Thou hast made many decisions rash, bringing naught but ruin and terror; and should this be the worst of them, I will die beside you. I followed thee into Alqualondë; I followed thee into Angband; and tomorrow when the dawn declares the morn, I shall march on Anfauglith from the West, and if all goes well we shall meet in the center of the plain.”

“The day has not come yet,” Maedhros observes.

“No, it has not. I am getting ahead of myself, as I always do.” Fingon laughs, softly. “But I fear it will come all too soon. For this is a beautiful night, and we are together; but it is short, and it is passing.”

Maedhros puts his hand over Fingon’s, gently. “It has not passed yet.”

Fingon looks up at Maedhros. “I love thee,” he says, suddenly, surprising even himself. “Thou called me Valiant, once. Yet now my heart stills in fear. What dost thou think of that? I do not fear Mandos for myself. Worry not: I know thee too well to speak words of restraint! Still, I tremble at the thought that my rescue will have been in vain. I love thee--too much--I do not know how I would bear it should thou leavest me--”

“And now it is my turn to tell you to hush. Whatever comes to pass tomorrow, thy rescue shall not have been in vain. I am here now; and for now, that shall be all that matters.” Maedhros moves his other hand to Fingon’s face, and though his muscles are strong, his touch is utterly gentle, and looks deep into Fingon’s eyes. “I love thee too,” he says, voice a whisper, and leans down to kiss Fingon.

Fingon kisses back, even as tears glitter on his cheeks. “I love thee,” he says again, when they break apart. “I do.”

“I know,” Maedhros says. “And I thee.”

“They said in Valinor that the lives of the Eldar are writ by Eru, that our dooms have been set ere the world came to be. If it is true, I have loved thee since time began, and I shall love thee long after it ends. If I have been doomed for it, so be it! I would take any doom, so long as it was at thy side.”

Maedhros wishes, silently, that he could speak so plainly; but the Oath is heavy still on his shoulders, and it seems only ever to grow. “I do not know who has writ my doom, for it has led me down paths full of sorrow and great wrong, and I can blame neither Eru nor Mandos for the dooms I myself have made.” He paused. “It is not all sorrow. The night is beautiful, and thou more beautiful still. If this is my doom, it is a good one, and I should forgive the tragedy that came before for its sake were it mine only to forgive. But let us not dwell on tragedy. Thou said before the night is passing: let it not pass us by.” He kisses Fingon again, deeply. This time, there are no tears.

Maedhros’s hands are hard and calloused, but there were no hands Fingon would rather feel. That night, they lay together among the flowers, and smiled but did not sleep.

 

* * *

 

\--of course, none of that happened. They slept apart, that night, and all nights after. Their doom was not one of starlit summer nights. It began in the darkness before the sun or moon with the words _tears unnumbered ye shall shed_ and it ended the next day with Fingon’s body trod into dust and mire. It was nearly unrecognizable by the time Maedhros saw it.

But had it happened--had they been together--Varda herself may have wept, to hear the love their lives contained.


End file.
